


Addams and Avon

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Blake's 7
Genre: Crossover with The Addams Family, F/M, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Ellynne G</p><p>Avon's under pressure to get married.  What's he doing turning down nice girls like Anna and Servalan?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addams and Avon

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
> Previously published in lysator mailing list.

Part One: Arrival

      Standing at the wrought iron gate, looking up at the dark, sinister house above, Avon hesitated, wondering how difficult this would be. Finally, he pushed open the gate, the rusty hinges giving a long, high-pitched squeak, like an inhuman scream. He began to walk up the narrow, weed-choked path, past the tombstones in the front yard with the strange shadows moving among them, past the large plant with its long tendrils reaching hungrily toward anything that passed, past the glittering eyes that hid beneath the many thorn bushes and the sharp-edged weapons lying scattered like children's toys. He only paused once, when something pale and small scrambled across the ground in front of him, something that looked suspiciously like a dismembered hand.

      Avon stopped and was about to say something, but the hand - if hand it was - was intent on an errand of its own and didn't notice him. In a moment, it was gone.

      Then, Avon was at the door. Now, he hesitated again, uncertain, nervous. Once he did this, there would be no turning back, and he really had no idea what was waiting for him on the other side of the door. But he rang the bell.

      In a moment, a tall, lumbering figure stood in front of him, pulling the door aside. "You rang?" he asked in an inhumanly deep voice.

      "Er, hello," Avon said, walking past him into the house. His normal urbanity seemed to have abandoned him. "Is anyone here? I mean the family? Are they -"

      He was cut off by a high pitched scream. He looked up and saw her, the lady of the house, tall and beautiful, black hair streaming around her pale face as she ran down the stairs. Then, she had her arms around him. "See who's here!" she yelled out to everyone in the place. "Gomez, children, everyone, my baby brother's come back!"

      The trepidation he had felt vanished. The prodigal son had returned. Avon was home at last.

      Part Two: Auld Lang Syne (or, Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?)

      Vila was only about halfway through his story when the old woman, for lack of a better term, freaked out. She dragged him up the stairs, which at least got him away from the smelly cauldron, and out of the dank cellar with all its slimy and slithery things, and up into a very dark parlor. The only light came from a few scattered candle stubs, but it was enough for him to make out the dark-haired man sitting by a very primly dressed girl with black braids and reading her a story book.

      Vila's world tilted slightly on its axis. "Avon?" he bleated incredulously, but he was drowned out by the old woman.

      "All right, Cur, what have you got to say for yourself?"

      Avon put the book down. Vila caught a glimpse of a picture of a disemboweled Andromedan before he closed it. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Vila, followed by a brief look of exasperation before he said smoothly, "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

      "Is something wrong? *Is something wrong?* Do you know what your friend told me about you and some Servalan woman?"

      "I'm afraid I don't but, knowing Vila, I wouldn't vouch for its accuracy."

      "You wouldn't." She shoved Vila forward. "All right, then, tell them what you told me."

      "It was nothing," Vila said, wondering what was going on this time, "I just told her about some of the things that have happened to us. Cygnus Alpha, Space City."

      "The people," the old woman snarled. "Tell him about the people."

      "What? Who? I mean there was Travis, Nova, Ro, your old friend Tynus -"

      "Tynus?" said a blond woman walking into the room. "What about Tynus?" She had a wan, wistful look to her, reminding Vila for some reason of a flower bed he'd seen once growing by a flooded riverbank, the dead blossoms moving slowly back and forth beneath the water. She seemed to know Tynus, and the truth, he remembered, was a bit brutal. He edited.

      "Oh, he was just a base commander we knew. Er, not much to say. Very into sketching bugs."

      The old woman snorted, "Sketching bugs! It was an all male base, wasn't it?"

      "What?" Vila tried to think what was wrong with sketching bugs. Nothing came to mind, "Oh, er, yes, I think it was." Now, those uniforms Tynus had liked that made everyone look like a cockroach, *those* had been a problem.

      "Most Federation bases are," Avon interceded.

      "And look where it got him! *Sketching* bugs! He should have stayed home and married some nice girl. Look at that pretty Thing from the Mantis family, she was crazy about him!"

      "She nearly bit his head off on the first date," Avon commented. "It gave him cold feet."

      "And burying himself on a military base was a solution? It broke her heart."

      "She seemed perfectly happy on that prison planet she moved to, even if you can't say the same for the men there, the ones who are left - I mean the ones she *hasn't* dated."

      "She's just putting on a brave face after the way he treated her. And don't take that tone with me. I know you helped him go into hiding. Fake I.D.s, Federation military - you think I don't know you helped him work that scam?"

      "I did think you'd put the pieces together, especially after the first twelve hours of interrogation."

      "You should have told me!"

      Avon shrugged, "Tynus didn't want to spend the rest of his life on a prison planet with a Mantis girl. I can't say I blamed him."

      "No, you're as bad as he was. Why haven't you married and settled down? You think I don't want to see some grandchildren in my old age?"

      "I seem to recall that you have grandchildren."

      "Oh, and that let's you off? Do you know how many golden opportunities you've missed?"

      "Golden ones? Not many."

      "And, now, your friend's been telling me about this Servalan woman. What have you got to say to that?"

      "What have I got to say to what?"

      Vila found himself pushed forward again. "Tell them!" the old woman barked.

      "I'm sorry," Vila said, "Tell them what?"

      "Did she ever try to kill him?"

      "Servalan? Lots of times. You could call it her life mission. Seems like we couldn't turn around without her shooting at us."

      "Did she ever set traps just for him?"

      'Him' being Avon. "Oh, yes."

      "How often?"

      "Well, I never really kept count, but it seemed like once a week."

      "Now, mother," a dark haired woman in sitting in the shadows in a wicker chair said soothingly, "there's more to a relationship than traps."

      "Oh, yeah?" She turned on Vila again. "Was she smart?"

      Vila thought of some of the traps Servalan had set. "Very."

      "Good looking?"

      "If you like blood-hungry weasels, sure."

      The old woman turned on Avon. "AND YOU LET HER GET AWAY? *WHAT'S* YOUR PROBLEM?"

      Avon, looking very irritated, sighed, "Vila, did you mention Anna Grant?"

      "Anna?" Vila looked around nervously, hoping from some route of escape. "I think I managed to leave her out."

      "Don't. Tell them about her."

      Vila shrugged. "What's to tell? You had an old girlfriend -"

      "ANOTHER ONE?" the old woman screeched. "CUR. . . ."

      Avon held up his hand. "Just a moment." He turned to Vila expectantly. There was a long moment of silence. "And. . . ?" he prompted.

      "Oh, well, Avon thought she was in love with him, but she was really setting him up. He thought she'd been killed but she'd only pretended to be dead and got him sent to a penal colony."

      The blond began to sniffle, tears streaking her face. "That's so romantic."

      Vila didn't follow that but he knew better than to stop when Avon was watching him that way. "Avon came back to get the guy who'd killed her. Spent five days being tortured -" The brunette began to dab at her eyes. The blonde snuffled more loudly. "Only it turned out he hadn't killed her. She was still alive. Avon found out she'd set him up, so she tried to kill him. Only Avon shot her first."

      The blonde began to sob very loudly.

      The old woman rolled her eyes. "Does somebody have to draw you a map? What does a woman have to do to get your attention?"

      "She was only after some money I was stealing."

      "So, she was practical. You think that's bad?"

      "And she was married."

      "And if everything isn't just perfect, you have to go dump her. Maybe she needed time to tie up some loose ends, you ever think of that?" She grabbed Vila again. "What do you think? Did she tie him up?"

      "Who?"

      "Her husband! Who did you think we were talking about?"

      "She shot him in the back."

      "That's almost as good." She turned back on Avon. "You hear that? She shot her first husband in the back. Why can't you bring home a girl like that?"

      "Believe me, she wasn't interested. I haven't heard anything from her since the shooting. Just ask Vila about Servalan."

      "What about her? Did she have a husband, too?"

      "Not that I know of," Vila said. "Oh. You mean when we met up with Anna? Servalan was there. Anna had staged a coup, but she hadn't killed Servalan yet. She was chained up in the basement."

      "And. . . ?" Avon pressed.

      "What do you want? She'd been beaten up, I guess. And she almost killed you -"

      "Wait a second," the old woman said. "Where was this Anna?"

      "Er, lying dead on the floor between them, I think," Vila said.

      "Wait a second. The old girlfriend's just been killed, she's even still lying there, and then this other one shows up and tries to kill him?"

      "Well," Vila admitted, "she'd been there the whole time. Avon found her before he found Anna. He asked her if she knew where Anna was. Sort of. He thought he was still looking for whoever killed her, but -"

      "Never mind." The old woman shook her head. "Morticia, take the extra plate off. Looks like we're not having company for dinner." She looked sadly at Avon. "OK, she was cheap trash, throwing herself at you like that. But haven't you met *anyone?*" She turned back to Vila. "Hasn't he met any girls he could take home to meet his mother?"

      *Mother?* Vila stared at her, sure he had misunderstood what she had just said. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if this whole thing might not be a very strange dream. He glanced at Avon. Well, maybe a nightmare. But even in nightmares, it was wise to play it safe. He didn't know what the old woman would do if she didn't like his answer, but he sure knew what Avon would do to him. Thinking quickly, he came up with the only safe answer he could. "Well, there was Cally. But she's dead."

      Something sparked in the woman's eyes. "Dead?"

      Vila could see Avon trying to signal him to stop this. "Oh, yes, very dead," Vila said, emphasizing the finality.

      "She was an Auron," Avon said, a note of desperation in his voice. "You know how they are, kind, thoughtful..."

      Vila nodded. "And dead," he added helpfully.

      The glint in the old woman's eyes seemed to grow brighter. "What, all of them?"

      "The whole planet."

      "Any family?"

      "They're dead, too. Her sister died when we got away."

      He could swear the old woman seemed to be salivating. "What happened to this Cally?"

      "We were on the planet Terminal -"

      "Terminal," the blonde murmured dreamily. "What was it like?"

      "Awful, lots of explosions, man-eating snakes with triple jaws, killer monsters -"

      "Really?" she said wistfully.

      Her tone threw him, but he nodded. "Really. And then Cally got trapped in this exploding building. She never stood a chance."

      "Don't tell me," the old woman said sourly, "Cur here didn't even go down into it to check on how she was feeling."

      Avon was signaling frantically, now. Vila wasn't sure what was going wrong but he tried to fix it. "Oh, no, he went down. But he only found out... well, Cally had never stood a chance."

      Every woman in the room, even the little girl, was now looking at Avon as though he were insane. "*Well?*" they said simultaneously.

      "There were too many explosions." Somehow, this sounded like a weak argument when Avon said it. "I had to get everyone to higher ground."

      "Right," Vila said, trying to back him up. "That's where we met Dorian. I told you about him and his basement. Cally was supposed to be with us when we got there. I mean, Dorian thought she'd be with us, and -"

      The old woman was shaking her head. "Cur, Cur, Cur, what am I going to do with you? I know what a soul-sucking basement sounds like, but haven't you ever heard of seizing the moment? No matter what you'd set up, did you really think it would top that Terminal scenario?"

      "She has a point, dear," the brunette said. "And spontaneity can be so romantic."

      "Whether it would have been or not," Avon said icily, "it didn't happen. It's too late now."

      The old woman laughed. "Wanna bet? Morticia, leave the plate, I'm going to go crank up the cauldron." Cackling, she went back down to the basement.

      The blonde sighed, "She's right. It did sound so romantic. Whatever happened to Tynus?"

      Vila, admiring her half-drowned beauty, forgot about upsetting her and went for the truth, hoping it would sound good, "We had a fight with him. He was electrocuted. Fried to a small crisp."

      But it was the little girl who seemed interested in this implied story of a deadly fight for survival. "I have an electric chair. Can you show me what it was like?"

      "Wednesday," Avon murmured, "Vila's a guest. Go electrocute one of your brothers." The girl nodded and scampered off.

      "Electrocute...? Avon...?" Vila began incredulously.

      "Don't worry," Avon told him, "they'll survive."

      "That's right," the brunette assured him, "the only time Wednesday really tried to kill one of her brothers was when the baby was born and she thought we would have to get rid of one of the others to make room. Of course, that's terribly silly. We would never do anything like that these days."

      Vila forced a faint laugh. "Avon, who are these people?" he said a bit desperately.

      Avon shrugged. "These are my sisters, Ophelia and Morticia. Morticia's married." he added, probably noticing the look Vila gave Morticia as she stood up. He didn't know married women were allowed to wear clothes like that. Too bad. But Ophelia must be available.

      "But didn't you have a brother?"

      "I did," Avon admitted.

      "We needed room," Ophelia murmured.

      "You have no idea what kind of trouble you've caused," Avon went on.

      "Me? That crazy woman would be after you for not dating Cally if I hadn't told her she was dead."

      "And you think knowing she's dead will stop her?"

      "Well, it would have to, wouldn't it?"

      Avon's eyes narrowed, "Vila, even you must have noticed - don't you even remember Gauda Prime at all?"

      "Don't remind me. I hate being shot at. I'm amazed we got out of that one in one piece."

      Avon seemed about to say something, then shook his head, apparently giving up. "Some of us got out in more pieces than others," he said obliquely. Still shaking his head, he went off, maybe to go help the girl electrocute people.

      This had to be a bad dream, Vila decided, as he drifted across the room. The way the old woman talked, as if being dead wasn't a problem for dating or anything else, as if it was just one of those things - maybe even a good thing.

      Reflecting on how unreal it all was, Vila never noticed as, pale and insubstantial, he drifted through the couch where Avon had been sitting just moments before.

Part Three: New Beginnings

       Vila stared at the beer can, trying to get it to move. The man in the movie made it look so *easy.* Concentrate on the object and move it. Didn't matter if it's a can, a penny, or the keys on one of those extremely old-fashioned computer terminals that had been so popular during the retro phase a few years ago. Just concentrate and it would move.

      He looked up from the bar to the TV screen. They were showing the - what was it called again? Oh, yes, the music video that went with the movie. Ah, the pottery scene. Strange, he'd never thought of pottery that way while he was alive. Amazing the clay wasn't all over the place, really. Oh, well, he'd never known any potters like that either.

      Behind him, he heard a drunken voice treble weakly, "I'm getting married in the morning..."

      Vila finally tore his attention away from the beer can. "Avon? How are you doing?"

      Avon looked up from his drink and regarded Vila blearily. "Am I still alive?"

      "Yes."

      "Then I'm awful." Avon turned back to his glass, picked it up, then realized it was empty. He stared at it in confusion, obviously having no idea how it got that way. Eventually, he picked up the bottle standing beside it and tried to pour himself another one, but the bottle was empty too. "Hey, Sam," he called to the bartender, "Fill it again, Sam." Then he laughed as if he'd made a joke.

      The bartender turned. Vila seriously doubted his name was Sam. The whole bar was supposed to be a recreation of a famous one from sometime back in the dark ages. Everyone who worked there wore ridiculous clothes, hairstyles, and name tags identifying them with the legendary staff of the original. Like the television set, it was all supposed to be period authentic.

      "I thought you hated tacky theme bars," Vila had said when Avon proposed coming here.

      "I do," Avon said, a cold, empty light in his eye that Vila had only seen once or twice before - like when Avon had just sort of accidentally killed a best friend and really didn't mind if he picked a fight with twenty armed men who knew they would collect the same bounty on him dead that they would for bringing him in alive, those sort of times.

      "What about that other bar down the street?" he'd suggested.

      "Hobson's place?" Avon said. "No, besides, he knows too much."

      Vila didn't follow that, especially since Hobson always seemed to have his nose in a paper - when he wasn't running in and out the door on all those 'errands' he seemed to suddenly remember, but Vila decided to humor Avon, mostly because 'humoring him' always sounded better than 'giving up'.

      The bartender brought over another bottle before going off to have one of his regular fights with 'Dianne' - another bit of period color - leaving Avon to contemplate the liquor drearily.

      "Avon," Vila said, "You've got to snap out of this."

      Avon snorted something undecipherable.

      "I mean, Cally's a nice girl. It's not as if -"

      Avon groaned.

      "Well, it's not as if she's *dead.* I mean, not *really* dead. I mean, not like, well, you know. I think it could be worse."

      "Dead. Alive. It doesn't matter." Avon said. He began to sing again, "I'm getting married in the morning/ Ding dong the bells are gonna - " He stumbled. "Going to - the bells will - Ding dong the witch is dead/ Which old witch? The wicked -"

      "Look, Avon," Vila interrupted, "You've got to stop this. If you don't want to go through with it, then don't."

      Avon looked up, struggling to focus on him. "Vila," he said irritably, "You are standing in my drink."

      And he was, too. "Sorry," Vila said, drifting out of the bar, "I'm still getting the hang of this ghost stuff. Being dead's not as easy as it looks."

      Avon shrugged, "Want to bet? Anyway, no one says no to my mother."

      "How hard can it be? You've said no lots of times, especially to Blake. Are you telling me she's worse than he was?"

      "'I carried you for nine months,' 'I still have stretch marks,'" Avon mimicked, "Did Blake ever blame me for stretch marks? 'I don't care if it revolutionizes physics, you shouldn't have built it in your father's torture chamber. That rack will never work the same again.' You think Blake even cared about torture chambers? Oh, and let's not forget, 'I could have traded you in, you know. Your brother never would have done this.' Like everybody doesn't have a few accidents. And, I don't care what she says, the radiation level didn't have anything to do with what happened to her souffle."

      "You're right, no one could ignore radiation levels like Blake, especially when we were the ones who had to go in. Reminds me, I haven't checked for tumors for a while..."

      "You're dead, Vila. You don't have to worry about tumors."

      "Oh, that's right. I keep forgetting."

      Avon snorted, "You don't have to worry about tumors, you don't have to worry about my mother, you don't have to worry about getting married..."

      "Please, Avon, don't start singing again."

      "Why not?" Avon said, finally opening the bottle and pouring it into his glass. "This is a party, Vila. Tomorrow's the big day." Morosely, he picked up the glass and swallowed it in one go. Avon blinked. "Oh, boy, that's awful." Then, he poured himself another glass. He began to warble, "I'll go where the goblins go, below, below, below. Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to church we go - No, that's not right." He tried to think of the right line, gave up, and picked up his drink.

      Before he could swallow it, the bar door flew open. A desperate looking man ran in. "Somebody, help me!" he yelled, "I need to get out of here!"

      Avon turned around and squinted at him. "You need to get out? The door's that way." he said, pointing inaccurately.

      The man ignored him, concentrating on the sober ones. "Is there a back door out of here? Please, I need some help!"

      "Why should I help you?" Avon asked slushily, "You're not Blake."

      That got the man's attention. "You knew Blake? I was with the resistance. The Federation's after me. Please, if there's anything you can do -"

      Something cold and completely in control of its faculties lit in the back of Avon's eyes. "The Federation?"

      "I escaped - they'll send me out on a prison ship - please - I need help -"

      "You already said that," Avon commented. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small medicine bottle. "Sobriety Pills" was scribbled across the label in Avon's mother's distinctive hand. Oh. He thought he'd seen her insisting Avon take something with him, he just hadn't known what. Vila supposed Avon had a point about her being bossy.

      Avon swallowed a couple. The sudden, stone cold intensity of his gaze made the newcomer stumble back a couple steps as if he'd been hit, but Avon wasn't letting him go. "What do they want you for?"

      The man opened his mouth, either to explain or stutter, Vila wasn't sure.

      "Never mind," Avon said, "there isn't enough time." He pulled out a portable computer, grabbed the man's hand and forced it into the I.D. reader. He scanned the readout.

      "Slandering government officials, holding an unauthorized rally, and five unpaid parking tickets. This will only take a moment."

      When the Federation guards arrived a few seconds later, Avon was quickly identified as the escaped criminal. A few hours later, they were in the brig of a prison ship. Avon sat back and relaxed. The only woman within lightyears was another prisoner, a blond smuggler who already hated him. He probably didn't think life could get any better, Vila reflected as he hovered in the vicinity,

      Then a note was unobtrusively handed to him by one of the other prisoners. Avon read it then put it away in his pocket. Curious, Vila concentrated. He concentrated *hard.*

      And the note came up just enough for him to read it.

      "Uncle Cur,

      Grandmother is very angry, but I told her you were last seen heading towards Hobson's Bar. She hasn't started looking in the right direction yet. She says to tell you, 'You can run but you can't hide,' which is what she always says when you do this.

      Be more careful who you shoot this time.

      Love, Wednesday"

      Vila discretely slipped the note back. Avon just smiled.


End file.
